A Few Days with a Face 6
by sarapals with past50
Summary: The pre-Las Vegas story of Sara and Gil continues as they search for a name for the skull! In San Francisco for a few days, nearly all fluff! Short story, enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_Here's the next story in a continuing series of "A Few Days"---Enjoy!_

**A Few Days with a Face Chapter 1**

"Lucy has a face."

The model sat on the make-shift desk while she talked on the phone and her boss circled the object. The face was one of a delicate featured young woman with brown hair and eyes—the most common colors for the North American female population. Blonde and black wigs remained in the box with the carefully wrapped skull.

"Can you fax a photograph? Is it good?" Gil Grissom sat in Las Vegas wishing he was in San Francisco to see the face of the person speaking to him.

"Yes and yes. It's amazing. We've already given a photograph to the press. Hold on, my boss is here." Sara passed the phone to her boss.

The two men covered the same topic with a similar conversation and more excitement.

"It's amazing," Tom Henry said. "The local television stations promised to air the photograph tonight. I've sent a picture to all the counties who sent us a list of their missing." He laughed at something, adding, "I think we may make Sara a local celebrity."

Sara shook her head. She had no desire to be on television or to be interviewed. She had touched the clay and plaster model a hundred times since pulling it from the packing box.

Her boss continued his phone conversation. "We have a good DNA sample from the feds. Amazing what they can do with teeth today." He and Grissom talked while Sara rearranged hair, pulling it away from the face. She rummaged around in a drawer and brought sunglasses out to place over the eyes.

"Sara has made her baby into a California girl, already found sunshades for her." Tom was laughing. He handed the phone back to Sara and left the room.

"It is exciting. Everyone has been in to look at her. We really appreciate Terri Miller—she is an artist."

She had called Grissom at home as soon as the box arrived, leaving a message, telling him to call about Lucy. He had laughed at her name for the skull they had been handed when visiting a vineyard months ago. It was the beginning of a search for its identity. It had also been at the beginning of their relationship—the second time they had been together.

Grissom said, "Do you have plans for Wednesday and Thursday? I can fly out as soon as I leave work."

Sara knew her schedule. "I'm scheduled to work until Monday. I don't think I can take off."

"Can I come anyway? I'll find something to do—catch up on reading, wait for you."

She frowned. "Okay." He did not hear the hesitation in her voice. "Come. Maybe I can get off early."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'll see you on Wednesday." They were both at work. Talk was quick and brief, professional more than personal even as they made plans.

Later that night, one local news reporter arrived with a cameraman; the lab director and Sara's boss, Tom, sat before lights and unveiled the model they called Lucy. Sara stood behind the camera and watched, secretly happy to be where she was. The reporter was well known for his crime reporting. The director was happy to be in front of the camera. Sara's supervisor looked uncomfortable as he formed a serious smile for the camera.

They were purposely vague about where the skull had been found and about a head wound, saying it had been recovered north of San Francisco, but location appeared secondary to death. They provided information about approximate age, about hair, eye color, about the anthropologist who had done the reconstruction.

The reporter spoke into the camera. "This woman was someone's sister, mother, daughter, wife. Perhaps she went missing twenty, even thirty years ago, perhaps ten years ago. If you suspect this face belongs to your missing relative, call the station or local police."

The camera and lights cut off. The three men at the desk congratulated each other. Sara held her hands in a tight grasp. She was smiling. Her boss beckoned her to the desk.

"Here's the girl who should be talking."

She was shaking her head. "No, you two did a great job. You radiated knowledge!" She did love her boss, even if he was old and grumpy most of the time. He liked her and when she said she did not want to appear on camera; he asked no questions, but took her place. He had his own thoughts about why she was uncomfortable on television.

"Now we wait." The reporter said as he gathered up his equipment. "We will go with this on the early morning show, followed by noon, and at least once tomorrow night."

"Get ready for the kooks to come out of the woodwork." Sara said.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Few Days with a Face Chapter 2**

Sara was right. In twenty-four hours over three hundred calls came in to local police; information taken from each caller.

Sara and her boss turned each page. She shook her head. "Where do all these women go? Even if half or two-thirds are false claims, that still leaves fifty to seventy-five women who have disappeared." She was counting dates.

Police recruits were assigned the task of taking calls, talking to individuals who called, and, as they expected, calls continued to come in once the photo was printed in local newspapers around California.

Crime scenes kept Sara busy, too busy, she thought as Wednesday morning arrived and she was still working. Grissom would arrive within hours and all she had managed to do was make her bed before leaving for work. She left a key hidden above the door—she could have left the door open; what did she have worth stealing. She had been working a burned-out car for hours. Three bodies had been found in what appeared to be a careening crash off a highway until bullet holes were found in their heads, until more bullet holes were found in the car.

She had been in the car, under the car, pulled burned carpet out and had lined each bullet fragment or casing along the table—twelve so far. The door panels had been the last to be removed. Sweaty, dirty, and past time for a break, she leaned against the table and slid to the floor, reaching for a water bottle as she sat on the floor. If she could keep going for a few more hours, she could ask to come in later tomorrow. Draining the bottle, she dropped her head to her knees for just a minute.

"Sara?"

She jumped and was on her feet in seconds. "Just taking a break." Her voice sounded startled as she croaked out her words.

Gil Grissom stood four feet from her spot. "You are working too much."

Her first thought was how clean he looked. And how dirty she was.

"Gil." She spread her hands. "What are you doing here?" She ripped off her gloves. "I mean, I'm—I'm dirty. I left a key."

His hand came out of his pocket with her key in it. "I called and they said you were here, so I came." He grinned; so did she.

She pointed at the bullets on the table. "I'll get those bagged, then shower and we can leave."

Grissom moved his head. "Go shower. I can bag what you have tagged. You look good."

The smile did not leave her face as she showered and changed. She left a note on her boss' desk asking for comp time so she would not be expected back to work in a few hours. He was good to her.

It took an hour to walk to her apartment, usually a twenty minute trip, but they stopped to eat and stopped again for groceries. At first, he was hesitant, she was talkative but by the time they opened her door, they were laughing and feeling comfortable with each other.

"Thank you for coming."

His answer was to kiss her, a deep, longing kiss that brought bodies together and hands touching. Sara managed to back him into her bedroom where he stopped.

"I'm going to be responsible," he said.

She looked at him with a crooked smile. "Responsible?" Her fingers started on his shirt buttons. His hand covered hers.

"How long have you worked today? Twelve, fifteen hours?"

"I don't care." She tried his buttons again, but his hand closed.

"I'm serious. We are going to rest before doing—anything." His eyes had closed as her head came to rest against his shoulder.

"I'm fine," she said.

He had wrapped arms tightly around her. "I know you are." She had found that place where she fit so perfectly against his body. "Every time we are together, we began exhausted. This time, we rest first."

Sara's look reflected her perplexed mind. She did not like the way this was going, but gave in. She did not want him to know that she had gotten four hours sleep in the past thirty. She would sleep for a while. She pulled him into the bed. "Will you sleep too?"

"I will." He toed off his shoes but kept his shirt and pants on. She stripped off her shirt and pants along with her boots. "You like the boots?"

She nodded. "I wear them every day." She had worn them first in the Nevada desert after he had paid for them.

"Sara, I want you—you know that."

"Yeah, I do. Thanks." She spread her hand across his chest. "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

Her head found her space again, that area where his arm joined his shoulder and he could wrap his arm around her. In seconds she was asleep.

Grissom had struggled for weeks, determined to be more responsible. What had been an accidental meeting was becoming much more. When she was not with him, he missed her more than his mind could form words to express. He wanted to care for her, to keep her healthy, rested and happy. His lips pressed against her hair. He wanted to make love to her for all the hours in the day. Wearing his clothes was a good idea if he was to sleep next to her.

_Thanks for comments!! Keep reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days with a Face Chapter 3**

The constant buzzing of a phone woke her up. She tried to gently crawl across the sleeping body next to her. He groaned and opened an eye as she got out of bed. As she picked up the phone, she glanced at the clock. They had slept nearly six hours.

"Sidle." She answered the phone which was attached by a cord to the wall and stretched it back so she could lean against the bed and sit on the floor to talk. Grissom noticed the cord was not long enough to reach the bed.

Grissom listened to one side of the conversation. He moved his hand along her neck and lightly traced a line down her chest. He knew she smiled before she turned her face toward him.

"Can I bring someone with us? Gil Grissom." She smiled. "Give us an hour. We'll be on the corner." She disconnected the call. "My boss." She crawled back into the bed, talking as she unbuttoned each button on his shirt. "We have one hour—enough time." She giggled and continued talking as she removed his shirt. "A detective thinks he has a good lead for Lucy so we are going along." She unzipped his jeans. "An old lady says it looks just like her niece." She stood up in bed and pulled his pants off.

He had folded his arms behind his head and kept smiling as she knelt between his knees, reaching back to pull off his socks. "What makes this old lady a lead?" He asked.

Sara brought her body beside his. "She had several other people agree with her—and the niece is visiting her later today."

His arms unfolded and came around her. "You think an hour is enough?" His mouth covered hers before she could speak. They both knew the answer and they made the most of the next forty minutes which gave them a hurried twenty minutes to shower, dress and get to the corner.

They ate an apple while they waited for the detective. "Tulow has been a detective forever; not real political connected and he's ticked off a few people, but good at what he does." She smiled. "And he likes me."

Grissom had his own idea that most of the men who worked with Sara "liked her" but he kept that thought silent.

An unmarked dark car stopped and quick introductions made before Tulow was speeding along streets heading to the Oakland Bridge.

"This lady called several days ago. Yesterday, she called again with a friend and between the two, they told a reasonable story—which we are going to check out."

"What about the niece?" Sara asked.

"That's what made me decide to visit her—and to call you. She and her friend say the face looks like her niece—who had an aunt disappear back in the early seventies. The niece is visiting the old lady." He waved at the box beside Sara. "That's your Lucy's face. You can decide if we show it to them, but your boss wanted me to bring it along."

The three talked about common problems in labs, favorite cases, odd crimes, and within an hour they pulled to a stop in front of a long low building with a manicured lawn and a prominent sign over the portico.

"A nursing home?" Sara was the first to speak.

"Yep, Mrs. Crane has lived here for six years."

Sara caught Grissom's look and made an eye roll. He grinned. He was here as an observer.

The place presented itself as a four-star hotel, large lobby with sofas and chairs, flower arrangements, a front desk, a bar of some kind along one wall, but it was quiet. A faint floral scent permeated the area. No guests were entering or leaving, no one sat on the chairs. One young woman sat behind the desk.

As soon as Tulow introduced himself and asked for Mrs. Crane, the girl responded with giddy welcomes.

"Everyone knows about the face! Mrs. Crane insisted on all of us watching—and she's right. There is a strong resemblance to her niece. You will see." The girl handed three 'Visitor' badges to them. "I'll call for someone to take you back," she said as she picked up a phone.

Sara turned to explore the big vacant lobby. Obviously the lobby did not put people at ease and was to perfect to be used by many. She reached one large flower arrangement—it was fake. So the smell of flowers was artificial too. When she turned she found both men watching her and was amazed at the almost identical expressions on their faces.

"What?"

Both men laughed and shook their heads as if they were sharing a story. The door behind them opened and another young woman stretched her hand out.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Few Days with a Face Chapter 4**

"We are so happy to have you visit." She shook hands with each, saying her name—Nancy—to each one. "I'm the activities director. Mrs. Crane is expecting you." They followed her down a long hallway.

Sara did not like nursing homes. She did not know anyone who did. This was the end of life and, most of the time, she tried not to think about it. As a teenager, she had a summer job in one and lasted two days. This one reminded her of that experience—frail, elderly men and women sat in doorways, a few watching visitors pass, a few more asleep in their chairs. Nancy spoke to everyone, saying their names, stopping twice to bend to say something.

They entered a large open room; a sign named it 'The Conservatory' with its floor to ceiling windows, plants growing along walls and trellises made it more of a greenhouse. Three women of three generations sat at a table; one of these was Mrs. Crane. Two of the women stood as they approached. Sara almost stopped breathing; the young woman could be a twin of the face in the car.

Tulow introduced himself and his two companions. Mrs. Crane remained in a wheelchair; the two younger women were mother and daughter, Debbie and Emily, the nieces. Nancy rearranged chairs so that everyone had a seat at the table and left the room. Very quickly, Mrs. Crane, her blue eyes shining as she talked, told a story. She looked frail, but her voice was steady, her mind clear and sharp. Everyone listened.

"My late husband's brother had a wife who left him in the early seventies. We never heard from her again, and he always said she had gone to the city—San Francisco. We lived north, up near Sonoma, then." Grissom looked at Sara. "They did not have children—Debbie would be her niece, her sister's child. My brother-in-law was a mean drunk. I always suspected that he beat her and one day she got tired of it and left him." She waved a frail hand to the two younger women. "These two are—Mae Crane would be their aunt."

Nancy returned with a tray of cookies and beverages for everyone and Mrs. Crane's narration stopped for a few minutes as everyone passed the tray and took a few sips of the coffee.

"Neither of these girls are related to me, but I never had children of my own and Debbie," she indicated the older of the two, "has always visited me, helped me move here so I would be close to her family. When I saw the face on the television, I knew it had to be Mae. And I know, I know that he killed her all those years ago."

Grissom sat beside Sara and could not see her face. Once he heard a quiet intake of air and he leaned back in his chair so he could place a hand on the back of her chair. He let his fingers lightly touch her back.

Debbie removed several old photographs from her bag, saying, "When Aunt Louise called me—I've always called her my aunt—I found these old pictures, none of them are very good, but my mom and Mae would have been in their thirties. I don't remember her—my mother always said Mae ran away and she would return one day." She handed the stack to Sara who passed each one to Grissom. Sara could see a strong resemblance to the youngest woman at the table—Emily.

The detective asked several questions; where was the brother-in-law? Dead, for at least twenty years, Mrs. Crane said, killed in an automobile accident. "He was drunk. Killed two others along with himself."

"Mrs. Crane, did Mae color her hair when you knew her?" Grissom asked while studying a photograph. The nieces had dark hair.

She gave a dry chuckle before answering. "Oh, Mr. Grissom, we all colored our hair in those days. Mae was blonde, I was blonde. We all were California blondes. Tell me, where did you find Mae?"

Tulow and Grissom gave a slight nod to Sara. She could tell this chapter. She described the vineyard where Grissom had taken her and, by accident, received parts of a skeleton—she did not say how little they had recovered—that had been unearthed. Using the skull, they had found an anthropologist who developed the face model.

Mrs. Crane sat forward. "Did you bring it with you? I'd like to see it." The young woman, Emily, sat between her mother and Mrs. Crane, who patted her arm. "I think it looks a lot like Emily—I had not realized how much she looked like Mae."

"We have the model. You won't be too upset seeing it?" Sara asked Mrs. Crane.

The old woman shook her head. "Honey, I've seen a lot of things in my life. Seeing Mae's face isn't going to upset me. It's been a long time."

The two men excused themselves from the table leaving Sara to talk to the women while they went to the car for the box. By the time they returned, Sara had drawn a timeline of the life of Mae Crane. She had asked enough questions returning the old lady's memories to a time in the distant past. Her brother-in-law had worked at a dozen or so "pick-up jobs", she called them.

"He never could hold a steady job. He would be working in town one week and the next, he would be out on some farm for a few weeks."

Sara drew a rough map marking the place where the skull had been found, marking surrounding towns as circles. Mrs. Crane quickly pointed to where she and her husband lived—less than twenty miles from the vineyard.

Grissom and Tulow returned and put the box on the table in front of Sara.

"She's yours, Sara." Tulow returned to his chair. He had realized how much the younger woman looked like the model.

Opening the box, Sara stopped and looking at Emily and her mother, said "This face could be you." She nodded to Emily. The young woman nodded.

Sara brought the model out of its box and sat it on the table. An audible gasp came from one of the women—Debbie, Sara thought. She moved the model near Mrs. Crane and turned the face to her. It took only a minute, but Mrs. Crane's expression moved from amazement to sadness then back to amazement.

"It's her. It's Mae. Her hair was lighter, dyed blonde, and her eyes were hazel." Her hand went towards the face, but she stopped before touching it. "Can I touch her?" Sara nodded. "This is amazing. Her nose was a little different." The old woman looked at Emily and smiled. "I never realized how much you looked like her. I guess I had forgotten."

The group continued to talk while the three women touched and turned the model, admitting amazement at the near resemblance it had to Emily. Tulow wrote copious notes until Sara took over note-taking while he asked questions. Over an hour passed as Mrs. Crane remembered and pieced together events from her life and that of her long-ago sister-in-law. Grissom listened in silence. He refilled coffee cups and moved around the room looking at plants.

Nancy, the activities person, arrived again asking if they would like dinner—served in the room where they were, saying visitors were no trouble. The two men instantly agreed; Sara checked her watch and noticed the sun was far from setting. She also noticed Emily was restless—young enough to have plans other than dinner with an old aunt and three strangers, Sara thought.

_A/N: We found a similar story from the 1990s about face reconstruction and identity was established based on how much a niece looked like the face, so that's where we got this idea. No DNA was done because of the similarity between the living niece and the dead woman--and in the 1990s DNA was just beginning to be used. This story has several more chapters, maybe seven to complete, but the next one is ready to go!_


	5. Chapter 5

A Few Days with a Face Chapter 5

**A Few Days with a Face Chapter 5**

Mrs. Crane had no memory problems and easily told one story tied to some event with no confusion. She remembered a detail or an obscure occasion, telling Sara to add it to her notes for a certain year. Several times, she asked a question of Grissom because he was not asking questions or taking notes. She was obviously enjoying her company and their interest in her long forgotten life.

By the time dinner arrived, the six had talked enough about Mae Crane; the face was packed back in its box and placed on the floor. Six trays were put in front of them, plates covered with a plastic dome and bowls of salad covered in clear wrap. Grissom was the first to uncover spaghetti with a thick red sauce.

"We are Italian tonight," Mrs. Crane said as she twirled a fork among the mound of pasta. "It all comes from a can." She spread a large white napkin across her chest and pulled her salad bowl close.

The younger woman picked at her food, placing small bites in her mouth, and stirring the other around her plate.

Sara ate like the two men. She had worked long enough to know that food was not always eaten on a schedule and a meal at a nursing home was as good if not better than most of what she found to eat.

Mrs. Crane held up a piece of lettuce on her fork. "Honeymoon salad." The others looked puzzled. "Lettuce alone!" She laughed at her own joke and the visitors joined her.

They left with promises to keep Mrs. Crane and Debbie informed. Debbie had attempted to quietly ask about burial, but when Mrs. Crane overheard her, she insisted in participating in what would happen to the remains. Sara told them how few bones had been found.

"It doesn't matter," Mrs. Crane said. "Mae deserves a burial. There's room in the family plot." With the thought process of the elderly, she continued. "I guess Mae doesn't care where she's buried, but we can do the decent thing now."

The drive back into the city took longer, more traffic, later in the day. Tulow called Tom Henry to give him the news first. He was the one who had moved the process along, finding space, finding money, and helping Sara work on the project.

"I don't think Mae Crane was even on the list of the missing." Sara said from the back seat. "Everyone assumed she left."

Grissom noticed the sadness in her voice. He turned and reached for her hand. "You okay?" She nodded.

Tulow let them out at the same corner, giving her the message from her boss to take the night off, saying "Well deserved," as she got out of his car.

XXXX

They sat on her top step wrapped in an old blanket. This was her private porch, hidden from the street and her neighbors, vines and flowers blocking any view that might reveal the stairs or landing. Grissom was surprised that it was such a quiet place in the middle of the city when half a block away, traffic created a steady hum until late night.

Sara had showered and changed her clothes and after doing the same, he had found her sitting outside. He knew the visit had upset her; she had been unusually quiet on the return trip.

"Are you okay?" He asked as he joined her wrapping a blanket around her.

"I'm fine." She placed her head against him. "It's sad that Mae Crane died and no one knew—no one will ever know what really happened to her."

He sighed. He had known many people who burned out in this field because they let victims get personal. "You can't take it personal, Sara. You've done a great job—something I did not think would happen—you managed to identify this person, find someone who knew her who cares enough to see she is buried."

"I know, Grissom. It's just—how many more are out there who will never be found?"

"We have to move on." He pressed his lips against her forehead. They remained on the step saying nothing, but wrapped together.

When he felt both arms circle his chest, without a word, they moved inside. The windows were open and had cooled the apartment to a chilly temperature. Sara pulled another blanket from a chest and spread it across the bed. Tonight, he undressed her, pulling the shirt over her head as she shivered.

"It's cold in here. Can I close the windows?" He asked.

"Come to bed. I'll warm you. I like having windows open." She held up the covers and he crawled in with her.

That night they made love in her bed warmed by their body heat. Sara wove around him with arms and legs in the shadows of faint street lights. Her smiling kisses, her whispered words, her warm fingers made him know that in this place, he was loved as he had never been. This was their time.

Grissom had never known a woman in the sense that he knew Sara. Every move she made, every touch of her lips seemed to send a message directly to his brain causing an overwhelming urgency to his thoughts and actions. Yet, slowly, deliberately, she brought him to her. Just as gradually, he found her passion and his obsession in this process of making love. In one swift outburst, he whispered words to her and as she rose above him, enough for her hair to surround their faces, he heard her respond with "Gil"—his name said in her soft, caring voice. It was all he needed to sweep into that tremendous soaring triumphant cloud that caused man to believe he was invincible. He was happy, satisfied, spent, and his last conscious thought was that he had brought Sara with him.

She progressed from orgasm into dreams without skipping a beat, but Grissom remained awake watching the curtains move in the breeze. He sensed there were unspoken things she could not or would not say to him. His own uncertainties made it difficult for him to talk about his age, about his own concerns. His last thought before sleep was how different life was here in this city on the bay, the smell of salty sea and hints of flowers always near one's nose.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Few Days with a Face Chapter 6**

"Wake up." He felt her warm hands before he heard her words. "You will leave me again and I will do nothing but work and sleep without you." He heard a giggle before he opened his eyes to dark brown ones.

Grissom knew from sounds outside the windows that dawn was just forming, a pale grey fog had crept in giving a smoky fragile cloud look to everything, even the inside of the apartment. He heard rumbles of trucks moving along the streets in that hushed quietness before most people woke.

And he felt her mouth against his neck, right below his ear. He grinned. "Woman, what am I to do with you?" She giggled again. It was easy, too easy, he thought, as he began to make love to her.

XXXX

The search for clothing turned into a sock throw as Grissom found multiple colored socks under her bed, none belonging to him.

"What do you have under hear? A sock making machine?" He asked.

Sara found his socks near the bathroom door. "I lose more socks—one reason I like the boots—no one knows if your socks match." She giggled.

The phone rang, puzzling him again about its location. Sara let it go to her answering machine and both heard a woman's voice. "Miss Sidle, I'm calling about your mother. Call me as soon…" She was across the room and had the phone to her ear, keeping her back to him as she replied in short answers. Her shoulders dropped as she listened. When she hung up, her hand remained on the phone for a few seconds before she turned, eyes tinged with apprehension or fear or something other than the happiness prior to the call.

She moved back into search mode, saying nothing about her conversation. Grissom sat on the bed and watched and listened as she dressed and talked—a fast one-sided monologue he had come to recognize as a nervous response.

When she stopped for a breath, he asked, "Why is your phone across the room?"

She looked at him, back at the phone and smiled. Her shoulders lifted. "To get me out of bed—so I don't go back to sleep."

Grissom waved a hand. She came to him. His arms circled her waist; her head rested against his.

"Sara, I want to do the right thing. Tell me where we are going with this."

She dropped to her knees and kissed him creating a desire that scorched his brain, made his heart gather into a knot unable to beat, and stopped the air moving from his lungs. Before his eyes could blink, her clothes were scattered and he was sinking into the scent of the secret feminine phenomenon. It seared into his mind. Later he would remember the science of this encounter but now, he felt the emotional experience. Without doubt this was the woman he wanted in his life—now, forever. It nearly scared him to death.

Her hips moved to meet him, the rhythmic contractions of her body and the soft sound of her voice closed around him. He moved again, realizing he still wore his jeans.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Few Days with a Face Chapter 7**

"Sara, we should talk." He no longer wore his jeans. He wore nothing and she had wrapped the sheet around both of them. He felt the heat radiating from long legs around his own and limp arms draped across his chest; her head nestled against his chin.

"We talk enough."

His arm pulled her closer; his hand found the curve where her breast met her chest and his finger made small circles in this delicate place. "We talk, yes. We should talk about us. I think I asked where we were going—us." He felt the slightest change as she tensed ever-so slightly.

"Oh, Grissom, must we?" She asked.

"I want to do the right thing. I want to make you happy."

"I am happy with you."

His arm wrapped tightly around her. Enough for now, he thought.

They managed to dress, to catch a taxi to a small local restaurant hidden along the coast where they ate fish at a picnic table. Sara knew the place; tourists would never find it nor would any be likely to stop at this run down looking place. Afterwards, she showed him a path among rocks that ended on a spit of sand beach.

She loved the beach, he knew. She changed as he watched, running in front of him, picking up rocks and throwing them into the surf—she had a good pitching arm, he thought. Her appearance was that of a teenager as she laughed and ran back to him, her hair blowing around her face. He realized he had never seen her in shorts or a swimsuit yet she was comfortable here becoming part of the landscape, as free and wild as the wind and surf.

When she returned, she wrapped arms around him and when he kissed her, he tasted the sea. Being with her was a voyage, he realized. If he was to sail with her, he had to move with the wind. She wanted no engine pushing her along; she wanted no heavy hand on a tiller making her turn where she did not want to go. He was not sure he could do this. And as she talked, giggled about nothing, he remembered the night and early this morning. He could not let her sail away from him.

Before leaving late in the afternoon, he made her promise to visit Las Vegas again. She would like it if she spent time there. His boss would like her. The work was always interesting. He would teach her to play golf. He did not mention how much he wanted to see her every day.

She insisted on going to the airport with him. "Just a few more minutes," she said. She waited as he cleared security and waved when he turned. She smiled.

Somehow he knew she stayed until he turned a corner. He almost turned back, forgetting his flight, his work, his organized life, but tourists, time and his own confusion kept him from doing so.

Sara did watch him disappear. She found a bench and waited until his flight was boarding. Every cell in her body wanted to go with him. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her, yet nothing in her life had prepared her for him. Every step, every thought, every feeling was new and unknown. It nearly scared her to death.

Instead of an expensive cab, she rode a shuttle into the city and walked from one of the big hotels to her apartment. She lay across her bed, curled with the pillow he slept on, pretending part of him remained. She would sleep before work, before deciding what to do about the phone call, and she would dream of Grissom.

_A/N: This wraps up the skull--the next one moves on to another worrying subject--Sara's mother. It will be posted tomorrow!_


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